


Takeaway

by lazarov



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Chopsticks, Consent, Food Kink, Food Sex, M/M, Porn, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2012-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:31:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarov/pseuds/lazarov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis teaches Harry several ways to use chopsticks.  (Kinkmeme prompt.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Takeaway

**Author's Note:**

> Kinkmeme prompt by LJ user **sleepandtears** : louis brings home chinese one night and harry is annoyed because he can't use chopsticks properly. they are eating chinese food in bed, but harry has greasy fingers because he's using his hands. louis feeds harry eggrolls and plays along with it, but soon becomes upset harry can't figure out the chopsticks. harry starts kissing louis, but his fingers make louis' skin greasy so louis angrily pins him down. and then teaches harry several ways to use chopsticks.
> 
> Basically: porn that is unbeta'ed and slapped together and I haven't even given this a second look yet BUT I WILL.

"Fucking fuck," Harry groans.  He picks a dropped piece of broccoli off of the bed sheet, rubbing at the grease stain.  "I'm so horrible at this.  What is the actual point of chopsticks?"

"I thought you were cultured," Louis smirks, deftly shovelling chow mein into his mouth, straight from the takeaway carton.  "Guess I was wrong," he adds around a mouthful of noodles. Harry watches him, fascinated.  

He watches Louis' agile fingers, how Louis gracefully manoeuvres the two cheap little wooden sticks and gets them to do his bidding: opening, closing, twisting, grabbing.  Louis snags individual, wiggly pieces of chicken, spears slippery chunks of tofu, scoops sticky mounds of rice effortlessly, as though he grew up in a land without fucking forks.

Watching this display of ability, Harry wishes that Louis had consulted him prior to deciding on Chinese Food in Bed, because his own chopstick skills are… rusty.  He tries to mimic Louis' movements, his hand positioning.  Tries to get his pointer finger and middle finger and ring finger to cooperate and bend to his will, but.  No luck.  

"I give up," Harry announces, snagging an egg roll with his fingers.

"Hey," Louis objects.  "No fingers."  

"Fingers," Harry disagrees, daintily picking a prawn out of Louis' carton and smacking a kiss on his cheek with greasy lips.  Fingers are easier.

Rubbing at his cheek with the back of his hand, Louis laughs, relenting.  "I can dress you up…"

"You haven't taken me out," Harry interrupts, offended.  He gestures at Louis' bedroom, at their feet poking out from the end of the sheet.  "You haven't even dressed me up.  We're naked.  In bed.  Eating takeaway."

"But if I did dress you up," Louis amends, raising his hands in defeat, "I would not take you out for Chinese food."

They continue eating, Louis using chopsticks like a civilized human being and Harry picking at pieces of meat and veg, but when Harry uses his fingers to scoop a mouthful of lo mein out of its container and into his mouth, leaving him greasy from elbow to nose, Louis finds he can no longer bite his tongue.

"No."

"Whah?" Harry asks, chewing.

"Nope," Louis repeats, pulling the takeaway cartons off the bed and setting them, one by one, on the nightstand.  " _Nooope._ "

"Why are you -"

"You are so greasy," Louis groans in amazement, half disgusted and half impressed.  "Is this how your parents taught you to eat?  Were you raised by wolves?"

"I was raised by Brits," Harry offers, by way of explanation.  He shrugs, swallowing down the rest of his mouthful.

"You don't have to be Chinese to figure out how to use chopsticks." Louis sighs, snapping his chopsticks together for emphasis.  "Millions of kids figure it out every day."

"I'm a slow learner," Harry laughs.  He leans in to press his lips against Louis', and Louis almost lets him, for a second, but then he feels the slide of Harry's greasy hands on his chest and pushes him off.

"You're digusting."  

Harry falls backward onto his elbows, confused but still laughing.  "Am not -"

"Open your mouth."

"What?" Harry asks, but then he does.  Louis puts something hard between his teeth, presses it against the corners of his lips.

"Bite down."

Harry follows orders.  He shifts his jaw, grinds his teeth against the object, and feels it roll a little.  Realizes it's objects, plural.  Wooden, thin.  He tries to lift a hand to feel them, but Louis climbs on top of him, pressing his knees into Harry's palms and pinning them to the bed.

"Chohstick?" Harry asks around the intrusion.

"Chopsticks," Louis confirms.  "If you can't figure out how to eat with them like a civilized person…  Well.  I mean."  He smirks down at Harry, pushes Harry's fringe off his forehead.  "There are other uses."

Harry rolls his eyes at and tries to pull his hands out from under Louis' knees, but Louis doesn't budge.  Harry's eyes drift down.  "Oh," he says quietly around the sticks.  Louis is hard, his erection pressed against Harry's stomach, slightly shiny from the grease Harry has dripped all over himself, Louis and the bed.  

Knowing that he has a captive audience, Louis drags his thumb across Harry's shiny lower lip, then runs it over the head of his cock, slicking across the pearl of precum that's already pooled at the tip.

Harry feels a jolt run through him, sparking at the base of his skull and speeding down into the pit of his belly.

"Okay?"  Louis runs a hand down Harry's chest.  Thighs spread wide (he's showing off, more than he's willing to admit), he can feel Harry hardening under him, pressing up against the cleft of his ass.

"Mmm," Harry agrees, nodding his head.  

"Okay.  Good boy."  Bracing himself with a hand on Harry's ribs, Louis reaches a hand behind himself and leans back, his fingers reaching down to palm Harry's balls. His fingers are slick with grease, rubbing circles firmly at the base of Harry's cock as he gently, slowly kneads him.  

Harry squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a short, desperate groan.

Louis drops his fingers down, middle finger sliding along the curve of Harry's ass to press against his entrance.  He circles it quickly, gently, with enough pressure and friction to make Harry's hips buck a little under Louis' weight.  

"I think this," Louis breathes, "takes better motor skills than working a pair of fucking chopsticks, really."  Under the hand on Harry's chest, Louis can feel his breaths coming in short, quick gasps.  

Harry's skin is blooming red, blotchy with heat and desire (and a little bit of embarrassment at being completely vulnerable).  

Harry bucks against him again and Louis slides his hand away from Harry's ass, dragging his fingers along Harry's perineum, sliding his palm past his balls and up into a lazy grip on his cock.  He presses his knees harder into Harry's hands and feels Harry flex his fingers, trying to get some circulation back in them.  


Harry makes a pleading noise at the back of his throat, his jaw taut around the chopsticks, and Louis digs his nails into Harry's chest, just a little, just enough to leave little red crescent moons in the dips between his ribs.  His other hand is still on Harry, thumb resting gently on his slit, idly sliding across precum.

"You wanna play?" Louis asks.  Harry nods slowly, panting around the sticks in his mouth.  The corners of his lips are red and raw.  Louis eases up off of Harry's hips, slides his knees off his hands, and hovers over him. "Turn over."

Harry shifts, and quickly realizes that the chopsticks poking out of his mouth are too long for him to be able to lie with his head sideways.  He's forced to lie on his stomach looking straight ahead, chin on the mattress, eyes fixed on the headboard.  

Louis grabs Harry's hands and places them behind his back - "Hold still." -  then leans over the edge of the bed to grab his tie off the floor.  He knots it once around Harry's wrists, places a chopstick in the middle of the knot, then knots it again.  

Then, he twists the stick, tightening the loop around Harry's wrists like a tourniquet.

"Fuck," Harry grunts, muffled.

"Too tight?" Louis asks, watching the heavy, quick rise and fall of Harry's ribs.  He doesn't get a response, so he leans forward and nips gently at the hot, sweaty skin behind Harry's ear.  He whispers a quick, "Love you," then slides down to scrape his teeth against the dimples above Harry's ass.  

One hand still maintaining a grip on Harry's wrists, he presses a kiss to the cleft then licks his way (slowly, slowly) down the line of Harry's ass.  He drags his lips against Harry's entrance and teases it gently with his tongue.  He can feel the ring of muscle tensing, relaxing, then tensing again, and Louis massages the flat of his tongue against it, sliding and wet.  He hears Harry groan, feels him roll his hips, pressing up, and the heat of him against Louis' mouth makes his cock jump.  

He twists the chopstick a little further, pulls Harry's restraints a little tighter.

Harry lets out a little yelp and Louis flicks his tongue inside.

Louis slides, wet and low, in and out of him, curling the tip of his tongue to catch at the ring of muscle, the friction drawing little whimpers out from the back of Harry’s throat.

“Lift your hips,” Louis breathes against Harry’s ass, and Harry obliges as much as he’s able, his bodyweight supported by his throat and chin and shoulders and knees.  Harry’s legs are trembling, and Louis licks his hand, slides it into the space between their bodies and the mattress to grip Harry’s cock.  He manages to stroke him one, two, three times, fucking him with his tongue at a matching pace, before Harry spills over his hand.

Louis draws his tongue out slowly, giving Harry one last, long, rough lick with the flat of his tongue, then lets go of the chopstick holding the knot together.  It spins, loosening, and Harry’s hands immediately go from scarlet to something resembling their normal colour.  

He slides himself up, pressed tight against Harry (hard as rock, still - he can feel himself leaving a trail of precum up Harry’s spine), and pulls the chopsticks from Harry’s mouth before fully untying his necktie from his wrists.

“Fuck,” Harry whispers, panting, his cheek against the mattress.  His hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat.

“Fuck,” Louis agrees.  He palms his erection and leans down to kiss Harry, his mouth open and wet and needy.  Harry flicks his tongue across Louis’ teeth and Louis comes with a shudder and a broken moan.  

He flops down next to Harry on the bed, exhausted.  They sit, panting, for a while, until Louis leans over to dig napkins out of the paper takeaway bag, passing a couple over to Harry so he can clean himself up.

Harry has flipped himself back over and is splayed out like a sweaty starfish, trying to cool himself down.  Something glints in his eye and he starts to laugh.  "You know what I thought?  I thought you were gonna, like, stick one in me."

“Stick what in you?”

“A chopstick.”

"A chopstick?" Louis asks, aghast.  He lifts one off the side table and examines it, brow furrowed.  "These things are cheap as fuck, you'd get splinters.  I'm not a monster, Haz."  

He presses a kiss to Harry's lips (the salt from the grease has been replaced with the salt from Harry’s sweat), sneaking his tongue across the threshold, and adds, "Mostly," then wiggles his eyebrows and flicks a chopstick against Harry's inner thigh. 

It leaves a welt.

 


End file.
